There is no doubt that it is more difficult to read and more difficult to write but I still manage.

...she looked like the sort of woman most men would want to get to know because they weren't sure what went on inside.

Old age is an ordeal, of flesh and mind. Of winding down, of slowing down, of dying cells. It's accepting the loss of physical attractiveness and replacing it with the power and wisdom that can only come with old age.

If you love people, they kill you. If you need people, they kill you. They do I tell you!

I want to know what they look like, their height, and colouring, physique and speech pattens.

We're working-class people, which means we don't get rich or have maids. Be content with what you are and what you have.

There's a story... a legend, about a bird that sings just once in its life. From the moment it leaves its nest, it searches for a thorn tree... and never rests until it's found one. And then it sings... more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. And singing, it impales itself on the longest, sharpest thorn. But, as it dies, it rises above its own agony, to outsing the lark and the nightingale. The thorn bird pays its life for just one song, but the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles.